Chapter 11 – No Need to Be Anything Else

Mr. Robert no longer locked the door. Sasha was once again free to come and go at Hawthorn Mansion as she pleased. After learning that Sasha had scraped her palms and knees climbing the mansion’s fence, Mr. Vinoche finally gave up.

That afternoon, Mrs. Vinoche was peeling onions in the kitchen preparing dinner, when she saw Sasha being carried home by Mr. Robert from afar and sighed. Hearing the story from his wife, Mr. Vinoche looked at Sasha’s injured knees. He glanced up at the old wooden ceiling, then lowered his head to look at Sasha again, repeating this several times before finally taking a deep breath and granting permission for her to visit Hawthorn Mansion.

“Only if you’re touring the garden or painting. Don’t do anything else. Don’t bother Mr. Robert, don’t get close to him, and if possible, don’t even talk to him.”

“I’ll try my best.”

After promising to do so, Sasha finally regained permission to freely visit Hawthorn Mansion. Relieved, Mr. Vinoche called the village doctor, Dr. Bresson.

“To help your wounds heal quickly, you should eat plenty of eggs, milk, and red meat. Getting enough sleep is also important, but tonight, pain in the injured areas might make it hard for you to rest. If that happens, take deep breaths and practice sleep therapy—it will help.”

Since Sasha had already received first aid at Hawthorn Mansion, Dr. Bresson didn’t have much to do. He prescribed some ointment and gave a simple recommendation.

But that night, buried under her green-striped blanket, Sasha felt little pain. Only her back, which she’d kept stiff from nervousness in front of Mr. Robert, ached. Her scabbed palms and swollen ankle just felt ticklish. It was strange. Maybe Mr. Robert was a better doctor than Dr. Bresson.

It felt as if the tiny feather of the white-browed warbler she’d seen in Mr. Robert’s garden was tickling her palm.

‘Is this what it feels like for torn flesh to heal?’

Contrary to Dr. Bresson’s warnings, Sasha couldn’t sleep for several days—not because of pain, but for other reasons.

* * *

A bicycle with an orange ribbon on the handlebar screeched to a stop behind Hawthorn Mansion. Humming, Sasha parked it in the bushes by the back door, out of sight from passersby, and took out her basket. The basket contained fresh eggs, cream, butter, pie dough, bacon, and spinach from home.

On her way through the garden to the mansion, she picked a handful of herbs she’d noticed yesterday and brought them inside. Instead of heading straight to the atelier as usual, she wandered and left the basket in the kitchen.

Every morning, Sasha resolved not to bother Mr. Robert. Yet, she always ended up chatting away to him. Mr. Robert knew more than Grandpa Bertland, who ran the general store, and was especially knowledgeable about art. Sasha had never met anyone her age who was smarter than Enzo, but Mr. Robert was.

‘I want to get closer.’

She liked him. She wanted to be friends. She wanted to spend more time at Hawthorn Mansion. She hoped Mr. Robert would stay in Manolie for a long time, even after summer ended.

But he was extremely wary of Sasha approaching him. For some reason, he always cared about keeping distance. One day, Sasha blew playfully into his ear as he slept at his desk. He scolded her harshly for such rude behavior. But Sasha had only treated him as she did Enzo. When she explained, he closed his eyes in distress.

<I’m not your brother. I’m not family.>

When he opened his eyes again, he said that since they weren’t family, she shouldn’t act so familiarly. Sasha didn’t understand why she couldn’t approach Mr. Robert, but decided to respect his wishes. If she wanted to keep being invited as a guest, she had to follow his rules.

After that, Sasha quietly painted in the atelier and biked home to the lemon-colored gate in the evening. As Mr. Vinoche and Mr. Robert had said, she didn’t do anything else. That lasted until she learned that the villagers still refused to deliver bread and meat to Mr. Robert’s house.

“Hello, Mr. Robert! Were you reading?”

After leaving her basket in the kitchen, Sasha stood on tiptoe and flung open the window. Mr. Robert was reading in a beach chair under the shade of the apple tree in the garden, soaking up the sun. Truly a leisurely holiday life. Where did he get all the money to spend so freely? Sometimes Sasha worried he’d be fired from his caretaker job if the real owner found out.

“May I use the kitchen? I’ll clean up thoroughly afterward.”

Mr. Robert glanced at Sasha and told her to do as she liked. Sasha returned to the kitchen, but soon ran back to the window.

“Do you like spinach?”

It was a random question. He answered that he didn’t dislike it. Sasha quickly disappeared into the kitchen.

Sasha Vinoche was scatterbrained. Unlike any artist Mr. Robert had met, she didn’t lock herself away in the atelier for months to complete a masterpiece.

In contrast, Sasha’s thoughts wandered as she painted. She didn’t know how to stop thinking. Whether mixing paints or holding a brush, if she wanted to explore the garden, she acted immediately. Her canvases filled slowly.

Like a butterfly flitting from flower to flower, Sasha moved between paintings, working on several at once. The atelier at Hawthorn Mansion accumulated more and more unfinished canvases. The young artist frequently dashed out, returning to transfer her impressions of favorite flowers or trees onto dried paint.

“Do you know how to use the oven?”

After a barrage of questions, Mr. Robert finally headed to the kitchen himself.

“What’s this?”

Sasha, picking out broken eggshells from a silver bowl, turned at the unexpected voice. Mr. Robert was holding a recipe note soaked in melted butter. It was Grandma Elodie’s quiche recipe, which Sasha had copied the night before.

“It’s how to make quiche. Do you like quiche?”

The grandmothers thought the young man managing Hawthorn Mansion alone wasn’t as dangerous as the rumors claimed. Grandma Elodie especially liked Mr. Robert, saying he resembled her late husband in his youth. Whether that was true or not, who knew.

“Sasha, put down the knife and come here.”

“It was just a mistake. I got distracted for a moment. But I was doing fine before you came.”

“Come here.”

At some point, Mr. Robert pushed Sasha aside and took over the kitchen. Sasha thought maybe he was good at cooking. In the end, both were terrible cooks. If anything, Mr. Robert was slightly better.

Still, the quiche made according to Grandma Elodie’s recipe smelled wonderful. It looked a bit rough, but the butter and bacon aroma was delicious. Sasha bravely swallowed the first bite.

“It’s good!”

Mr. Robert, looking doubtful, took a big bite and his expression became meaningful.

“Artists are supposed to have sensitive taste buds.”

“Then I must not be an artist.”

Sasha swallowed the quiche and spoke.

So what are you?

His gaze, fork put down, seemed to ask that question. Sasha had already said it many times. But he kept asking. She felt a little annoyed.

“I’m Sasha. Just Sasha Vinoche.”

Muttering, Sasha ate two slices of quiche. The man across from her ate one. She left the rest, not knowing if he would eat it later.

* * *

The fact that Mr. Vinoche’s daughter visited Hawthorn Mansion caused quite a stir in Manolie.

The villagers used Sasha as a spy or lookout. Watching Sasha Vinoche visit Hawthorn Mansion daily and return safely in the evening, they gradually began to think Mr. Robert might be a decent person.

Around that time, some people quietly testified to his dignified character and polite manners. These were those who had once drunk with Mr. Robert in hopes of learning the new owner’s true identity.

The shopkeepers resumed bread and meat deliveries to Hawthorn Mansion. Villagers greeted him over the fence when passing the hill. The caution of the past faded, and people showed kindness to Hawthorn Mansion. As long as he wasn’t a threat to village safety, Manolie folk were very interested in the handsome young man from Laurent.

One morning, waking later than usual, Sasha hurried to Hawthorn Mansion and slammed on the brakes. Mr. Deni’s granddaughter was talking with Mr. Robert at the gate. Mr. Robert had come out to greet her.

At first glance, Mr. Robert seemed gentlemanly, but after a little conversation, he was so guarded and prickly that it was hard to get close. Sasha thought she should help Mr. Deni’s granddaughter so she wouldn’t feel awkward—she wasn’t used to Mr. Robert’s brusque responses!